You know the phrase, "less is more"? It had to be coined to describe good poetry. If you don't like the occasional good poem, well. . . then you are wrong. And yes, you may say it's just a matter of opinion. You can't be wrong in "liking" something. Well, this is an exception to that so called rule. Case in point. William Everson's "Year's End" is an exquisite example of just how wrong you are.
The year dies fiercely: out of the north the beating storms,
And wind at the roof's edge, lighting swording the low sky:
This year dying like some traitored Norse stumbling
under the deep wounds,
The furious steel, smashing and swinging.
From the northern room I watch in the dusk,
and being unsocial regard the coming year coldly,
Suspicious of strangers, distrustful of innovations,
Reluctant to chance one way or another the unknown.
I leave this year as a man leaves wine,
Remembering the summer, bountiful, the good fall, the months
mellow and full.
I sit in the northern room, in the dusk, the death of a year,
And watch it go down in thunder.
This gem from Everson, later called Brother Antoninus when he he went monastic, and then later William Everson when he had his fill of celibacy, is so vivid, so vibrant, that you forget that it is just a mere 114 words. I've read novels that didn't say as much. I keep my commentary to myself on this one. Sometimes it is best just to sit back and enjoy. So, go back, read this a few more times and enjoy the imagery, rhythm, and symbolism.
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